Re-Animator aka Iteration 420
by nico78
Summary: Walter Bishop is given the idea to re-animate the deceased members of 2 of his favorite rock bands and reunite them all for the Concert of the Century.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's note: This was a sort of a story challenge, in a way, given to me on Twitter. I don't know how it came up but it did and this was written. Stopped and started, stopped and started stopped and started, then finally finished (I sense a pattern...). I love making up my own back story for Fringe characters, maybe a little too much! I hope you enjoy and laugh a little. __This is to be read with your tongue firmly planted in your cheek._  


_I'm not sure when this takes place, other than around season 4. And since we got a WHOLE NEW timeline and Peter doesn't exist... sigh, I think this belongs in the old universe's timeline (in my head) if Peter didn't will himself out of existence. Does that cover it? So this is an alternate alternate universe alternate timeline, iteration # 420.  
_

_Actually that's a good name: **Iteration 420.** That's the UNofficial name.  
_

_There's no violence or sex or Polivia in it (i'm sorry, forgive me, mea culpa!), but I do mention casual marijuana use so if that offends you, (but you're a Fringe fan [but over 18]), I suggest reading it anyways. I have no first hand knowledge of such things.  
_

_Reviews and suggestions are always appreciated.  
_

_Thanks for reading!  
_

* * *

_**...**  
_

* * *

**Iteration 420**

**WALTER MEETS SAM**

Sam Bond was a skinny, slightly nerdy looking, dark haired, glasses-wearing beatnik type. In tie-dye. And he didn't wear it "ironically", he genuinely enjoyed wearing it, he came from a place where tie-dye wasn't a fashion anachronism. He was also Walter's pot friend. Walter was Sam's pot friend and unofficial literary muse.

They met each other one day on a hidden path on the outskirts of campus, one that hardly anybody ever used or knew about it. Except when they needed to get away for a few minutes. And then only if they went behind the bushes just to the right of the mini rock stonehenge formation that was on the ground.

Here in this little out-of-the-way spot, many years ago, Walter had commissioned a memorial park bench in memory of his lab assistant Carla Warren. Inscribed on a little silver plaque were her dates of birth and death and a quote from Emmy Noether, a famous German physicist that Carla had admired.

Walter was sitting here, contemplating life and trying out his laboratory concoction of Brown Betty the day that Sam poked his head around the bushes. After a nasty blow to his head, Peter had found out the truth about where he had come from and walked out of Walter and Olivia and Astrid's life without a word on where he was going. And Walter could feel it in his bones that he was soon to have a grand meltdown, one that might eventually send him straight back to the looney bin. So he was self-medicating against it. Heavily self-medicating.

"I was about to do the same thing," Sam spoke and broke Walter out of his downward spiral. Walter patted the bench seat beside him and waved the young man over. A smile cracking open his sad face for the first time in days.

Walter had been about to trip over the edge of melancholy into a bout of full-blown self-pity, all his thoughts squarely centered on the whereabouts and safety of his son. But he was happy for a moment to put that sadness aside. This young man looked like somebody he could get to know and share his love of marijuana with. Peter hadn't ever wanted to smoke a joint with Walter, but not for a lack of Walter trying. Peter was such a square at times, and that's how Walter knew he was really Walternate's boy. That thought broke his heart a little.

Dizzying spiral, grab hold of something. Walter grabbed the edge of the bench and held on for dear life.

Sam sat down and they shared a few puffs and a nice conversation about the meaning of life. It was intense. As intense as a 10 minute conversation about life could be. All the major bulletpoints were brought up and Walter liked this man's answers.

Walter held up another joint and offered it to Sam.

"Do you like it? I've been studying the science of gastronomical cooking. I am trying to apply the same concepts to create the perfect high."

"I've never smoked anything like it," Sam nodded. Then coughed.

Ever since that day two years ago, they had been good friends.

* * *

**...**

* * *

******FAST FORWARD TO TODAY AND IT'S RAINING (I only mention it because it's important)  
**

So today, two long years after they had met, the two friends listened to records together in a haze of smoke at the young man's apartment. When Sam got the old Harvard professor stoned, he could tell a whopper of a tale. Sam learned to keep a journal handy to write some of it down so he didn't forget it later. Not that he could easily forget about the existence of a separate slightly different universe that also wanted to destroy them. And that string theory was a demonstrably real concept. It made his head spin.

Sam was thinking of using Walter's stories to write his upcoming dissertation in creative writing, but the stories were just too good to waste on a school assignment. Sam was thinking bigger—MacArthur-fellowship-Pulitzer-Prize-winning-New-York-Times-number-one-bestselling-author bigger.

Sam Bond was thinking of a novel or a biography if he could get the man to sign off on it. That was a big 'but'. If even 10% of the stuff that came from this man's lips was true, Sam doubted he could assign any real names to any of it. It was all scandalous. And the CIA would probably "disappear" him from the face of the earth, some of the stuff was so clandestine.

There were government conspiracies and alternate universes and heads of corporations gone mad and people whose mouths sealed themselves shut and asphyxiated them to death with an aerosol spray. Even after 2 years, Sam still wasn't sure if the old guy wasn't just a burnt out hippie with a big imagination that had taken way too much acid in the 60s.

Or a vagrant. At times, Walter's coat looked like he'd been sleeping on the streets. But it was always clean and mended quickly whenever a hole appeared or a button fell off. That was Sam's totem to reality, that's why he had an inkling that whatever this man told him, it was probably mostly true.

They were both seated on a brown hand-me down sofa listening to Queen on the record player, their eyes gazing at the point where the wall met the ceiling. Deep in thought. Freddie Mercury enveloping them with his voice.

"Wouldn't it be rad, Walter, if you could find a way to make this guy sing again? I remember when you first met me, you said you could bring back the dead. Was that true?"

Walter smiled, "Of _course_ it's true. But you know they can't be THAT dead. There's dead and then there's _DEAD_. Ask my son." Walter's smile softened. Sam had heard this story before. Many times. But this time, a sadness came over Walter when he talked of Peter. Sam had also seen this happen many times before, so he didn't think anything of it.

"It shouldn't matter to you, Walter, you're definitely the guy to figure that shit out." Sam sat forward and tapped the pipe on the table to clear it out.

"Don't swear. As a writer, you should have a better vocabulary than that," Walter's voice was curt and tinged with anger.

After a long silence of deep contemplation Sam agreed, "You know, you're right."

The two let that settle in, then Sam looked sideways at Walter, who was melting into the couch gazing far away. "And you might as well resurrect the Beatles too while you're at it and make them all play a concert together. The reunion concert of the century, courtesy of Walter Bishop." Sam paused to think about something. Something that he could never have imagined himself trying to think as even _remotely_ possible. "Could they even _play_ music after being brought back from the dead?" he trailed off, lost in his whirling thoughts. "Would that even physically be possible? Naw, not even by you. You're a god, Walter, but even God has His limits."

The roaring voice that came out of Walter next was something Sam had never heard before. It started low and built to a crescendo. "So it wouldn't be enough to simply BRING them back to life, you'd actually want me to-" Walter waggled his fingers in front of him "-_magically_ restore their singing and playing abilities too? Never mind the fact that they're probably bones and dust by now. And John Lennon has been shot in the HEAD. IN. THE. HEAD!"

Walter stood in a huff and not-so-gently placed the glass pipe on the coffee table. The CRACK of glass on glass was exaggeratedly loud in the silence. Even Queen had stopped singing and the record had come to an end. The groove-less inner part of the record played endless white noise in the background.

"What a ludicrous proposition from the outset! And I'm NOT God." Walter bent down and wagged a solitary finger in front of Sam's face. "You don't just have cotton _mouth_, you have cotton _brain, _young man!"

Walter couldn't sit here and listen to this marijuana-fueled nonsense any more. He snatched his coat from the chair and headed for the door.

"Walter, wait!" Sam stood, grabbing Walter's coat sleeve as he struggled to put it on. "I'm sorry, man. What's got into you?"

"God wouldn't waste his time and effort trying to put together the 'Concert Of The Century'-to prop up sagging ticket sales in the live music industry, to make a gaggle of idiotic beer-guzzling college students who think the world revolves around them happy! And neither would I!"

Walter opened and slammed the door behind him, walked into the blustery cold of winter and descended the metal stairs.

On the third step, he slipped and fell down the rest of the stairs on his butt, throwing curses in angry white puffs the whole way down.

He landed in a puddle and it soaked him through to the bone. Picking himself up off the wet ground, angry, Walter slogged home.


	2. Chapter 2

**WALTER REALIZES HIS LIFE-LONG DREAM OF CELEBRITY CORPSE RE-ANIMATION (yeah, that's what I said!)**

He found himself back at the lab. After drying off, he pondered Sam's words. Chewing on a yellow #2 pencil, making calculations and doodles on a pad of paper.

Could it be possible to bring back dead musicians and have them play a comeback concert? Maybe even a tour? He had worked on reanimating corpses before, but they had been freshly dead, not years and years dead. And what would that mean for loved ones who had died, could he bring them back, too?

His pencil snapped in two and a piece flew across the room.

_One thing at a time,_ he admonished himself.

Astrid walked in and Walter leapt to his feet. "Astrid, I need you to do me a little favor." He smiled a deceptively sweet smile.

And she looked skeptical. There were no 'little favors' in her life down in the basement. Especially when Walter asked so sweetly.

"I need you to procure me a _dead body_," he whirled around, his white lab coat twirling behind him with a flourish that a whirling dervish would envy. "One that's been dead for quite some time!" He twirled around back to her, mad glint in his eyes. He poked a broken pencil and bellowed his outdoor voice at her, his "Professor Bishop" voice, she liked to call it. "You may have to pull some strings. You may have to do some things you don't _want_ to do. But they must be done, in the name of _science_!"

_Grave robbing for science. Oh really._ Astrid rolled her eyes. She could imagine the scar on her FBI file when she was caught grave robbing.

**_GRAVE ROBBING._**

_And it was only Monday._

It was going to be a long week.

And Walter continued to blather, "Any cemetery will have corpses of the kind I need. I realize it may be more convenient for you to find them at the morgue or funeral home. I understand the need for simplicity in this assignment, but I need them to be VERY dead, Astro-turf. Decaying, is better. A coffin full of bones will be the best. But not piles of dust or cremation remains. I must be picky in this one aspect."

"So you want me to do a little grave robbing? Sure, why not?" she smiled sweetly back at him. "Would you like me to also grab a dozen donuts on the way back?"

"Astrid," Walter steepled his hands on his chest, "I've known you for four wonderful years, but by the tone of your voice, I think you _might_ not be taking me or this mission as serious as I need you to."

_Don't say 'gravely serious' Walter or I WILL punch you_, Astrid thought. "You would be correct, Wally. You know, I'll have to run this by Peter and Olivia. And maybe even Broyles."

"Yes, yes of course. I'm sure they'll say yes."

"Sure." One of Astrid's eyebrows crept up her forehead. She was very skeptical about that. She was so skeptical about Peter and Olivia saying yes to grave robbing, that Astrid didn't even cancel the mani-pedi she had scheduled for later that day.

* * *

**...**

* * *

**DONUTS ARRIVE AND THE MAGIC BEGINS (things get a little gory, but not too gory)**

Without going into too many details (details are sooo boring), Astrid arrived at work the next day with a dozen very fresh donuts and one very dead corpse. Mostly bones, as requested, and somebody with a job that required "complex skills".

The old, dirty coffin was waiting on a hand cart when Walter arrived the next morning. He was so grateful for Astrid's unquestioning loyalty to his scientific endeavours that he decided to postpone naked Tuesday until next week.

It was the least he could do for Astrid. He loved the freedom naked Tuesday afforded him.

_Sometimes the other occupants of this lab didn't appreciate the sacrifices he made for them!_

He grabbed a donut with rainbow sprinkles from the pink box and hugged Asteroid tightly. She didn't return the hug.

"How did you do it? You are so resourceful!" he beamed at her, she was like the daughter he never had.

"Don't ask." She didn't look happy. Looked downright homicidal.

_Astrid's nails look especially ragged today,_ Walter thought but wisely did not say out loud as he backed up a few steps, wiped his sticky fingers on his lab coat, and got to work.

Opening the coffin was easy with the crowbar he had saved from the old Vista Cruiser before she was junked for scrap (another Bishop family tragedy!) and he had been working all night on his magical life-giving solution. He'd consulted his and Bellie's own notes and even occult books to make a potion he was so confident would work that in his manic excitement, he'd also drawn up the patent papers and would submit them as soon as possible (after some rigorous testing of course).

He hadn't gotten a wink of sleep, but he'd had some pharmacological help in that department.

He busied himself over the coffin, spraying foul smelling chemical solutions with one hand and shoving donuts in his mouth with the other. There was a method to the madness and that method always involved copious amounts of donuts.

When he emerged from his experiments, he called Astrid over. He was pleased to note that her reaction shifted from homicidal to amazed to horrified.

Just the reaction he was hoping for!

A "skin" had started to stretch over the bones of the corpse, even a face was starting to appear. It was stretching and mutating and creeping over dry bones in front of their eyes. The corpse's fingers started to twitch.

"Walter! I can't even— " Astrid wrenched her head away in disgust. "I don't know- How-?"

The corpse sat up, creaking, as it flexed its skin, trying out its new found elasticity. It sounded like well-worn leather. Eyes had appeared at some point but Astrid could not, would not, make eye contact with it.

It was horrific.

Walter beamed, like a proud Dr. Frankenstein, at his creation.

The corpse's mouth began to open and close.

He reached a hand out and as gracefully as possible, which wasn't very graceful, helped the man out of the coffin.

"Now dear, what were the man's skills? That is a very important part of this whole equation."

"I think he was an artist. That's what his tombstone said." Astrid busied herself in her notes. She was already knee-deep in this and didn't want to participate any more.

The dead man stood with Walter's help, the translucent skin showed muscles flexing underneath. It was truly a sight of wonder and horror all at the same time. The creaking leathery sound the corpse made as it moved was revolting.

"Astrid, what was his name?" Walter whispered into her ear and she jumped.

"Alfred."

"Now sir," Walter addressed the man. "Alfred."

The man turned in the direction of Walter's voice.

_His hearing works! His hearing works! _Walter shouted in his head. The symphony in his head played a short burst of happy music.

"Can you show me what you are known for? What did you do during your life?" Said the good doctor to his creation.

The corpse lunged awkwardly at a pair of scissors on a table and snapping them open and closed, advanced on Walter, eyeing his bland pull-over sweater with an evil glint.

* * *

...

* * *

After lurching around, overturning tables and up-ending cabinets, Walter's Bedazzler® and a box of rhinestones and studs fell out from the back of a cupboard and the whole mess clattered at Alfred's feet. The colorful rhinestones dazzled- BEdazzled- his newly functioning sensory neurons. Walter was ecstatic to see his favorite crafting tool again, because he'd lost it months ago (but truthfully Astrid or Peter had probably hid it from him) and so many things at the house needed a good Bedazzling!

Alfred stared at the hypnotic shiny objects covering the floor. Walter picked up the tool and showed Alfred how it worked by putting a couple of rhinestones in the bottom of his sweater. In a flash, clothes and jackets and other scraps of cloth that had been left at the lab at one point or another lay in frayed and Bedazzled® heaps on the floor as Alfred took to them with the only tools at hand- scissors and a Bedazzler.

The corpse had been a tailor in his life and proceeded to prowl about the lab, sprucing up all the clothes he could find. Because, in his professional opinion, most of the clothes were drab shades of greys and blacks and needed a bit of pizazz.

Obviously he'd never seen a Bedazzler® in his life because he Bedazzled® everything, even Walter's lab coats.

A few hours later, Walter held up his sweater and gazed at it in disbelief. The sleeves were cut off and the edges precisely hemmed and a pattern of red and black rhinestones covered the front.

During this, Astrid decided it was a good time to take lunch and demanded Walter wrestle that wretched tool away from him before she returned or she didn't know what she would do. But when she came back and talked to the impatient campus security officers waiting in the lab, she found out that the corpse had run out into the Harvard courtyard like a maniac. He'd caused quite a disturbance among the students and faculty, wielding the Bedazzler® like a weapon, before disappearing.

She was not happy about that and neither was Walter.

Because his wardrobe had never looked better.

"I think we need to talk to some people at Massive Dynamic. In person. We need to get to New York City, Alpha Romeo."

* * *

**...**

* * *

**HOW RUDE, I'VE GLOSSED OVER THE UNIMPORTANT STUFF!**

A day later, Walter stood shoulder to shoulder with a scientist at Massive Dynamic. Their poses matched: hand under chin, deep in thought. They stared through the one-way glass as their fellow scientists were working on some other corpses that they had dug up to perform tests on. The corpses were walking around, answering questions, standing on one foot, performing complex math, juggling.

You know, a typical Wednesday at Massive Dynamic.

Walter decided now was the time to talk to Nina about his idea. She could be a good sounding board to bounce ideas off of. When she was agreeable to them.

"Nina! I have an idea. It would make Massive Dynamic a household name!"

He started to tell her about his idea for the concert of the century. To resurrect the deceased members of the Beatles and Queen and reunite them on stage for one last time.

"Walter, your idea is brilliant and I understand you're overseeing some very promising experiments in the lab, but the ethical questions here may be too much for us to overcome." _Wet blanket!_ he yelled at her in his mind. "But the profit margins will be phenomenal. We could charge anything and the concert will sell out."

"Nonsense! When the world hears about what we are doing they will immediately embrace the idea of having their loved ones come back and rejoin them for Christmas and family dinners, the list is endless! I also predict that it would revolutionize crime scene investigations and history. The possibilities are endless. If you won't back my ideas, I will advance them on my own. You can't say I didn't want Massive Dynamic to be a part of HISTORY."

Nina shook her head, "Walter, I don't think you heard me. It's a great idea." She signed off on Walter's hare-brained scheme, sure that no one else would take him seriously.

And then she threw a drink in his face.

* * *

**...**

* * *

A few weeks later, Sam Bond answered a knocking at his door and when he opened it, Walter thrust a flyer into his hand.

Sam's face paled as he read it:

"THE CONCERT OF THE CENTURY: a Beatles and Queen reunion you can't miss featuring the deceased members of both groups playing with the surviving members. Brought to you by Massive Dynamic. Tickets on sale at TicketBlaster".

Sam was stunned, he stared at the flyer in amazement. He lost the ability to speak for a few minutes, Walter stood there, drinking it in, with a smug expression on his face. He reveled in showing this foolish young man there was no God but science.

___Science FTW, _Walter was sure that's what the kids today said.

"You were right, Sam. I COULD do it! And I am NOT god!"

For some strange reason, Sam Bond threw a drink in Walter's face.

Over and over again. Walter put his hands up but he was still pelted by water.


	3. Chapter 3

**REWIND THE TAPE A LITTLE BIT  
**

Sam sat in stunned silence after Walter's tirade. What had he said? He'd compared Walter to God. Was that it? The man had certainly turned into Mr. Hyde when he'd said that. It was a side he'd never seen in the man. And never wanted to see again.

Sam heard a yell and a series of thuds out on the stairs. He separated the mini-blinds and peeked out the window. Walter was laying at the foot of the stairs in a heap, unmoving. Sam struggled to put on his shoes and carefully ran down the wet, icy steps.

"Shit, shit, shit, no, no, no! Walter!"

He hustled out in his bare feet and knelt over Walter's lump of a body and gingerly tried to find the man's wallet or cell phone. He had no idea where he lived nor what number to call in case of an emergency.

The thin wallet had a couple of old pictures inside and a very expired driver's license from the 90s. There were a few slips of paper, some tattered bus transfer passes.

The cold bit into Sam's cheeks and he could see his breath in the air. His fingers were numb. He should probably call 9-1-1.

Then he found an emergency card with a phone number and the name 'Peter' in Walter's wallet. He raced up to his apartment.

* * *

**...**

* * *

**RE-ANIMATION**

Walter opened his eyes, water cascaded down his face in a torrent, blurring the faces in front of him into unfamiliar blobs.

_Why do these people continue to throw drinks in my face? What did I ever do to them._

Sam and Peter stood over Walter, trying to shield him from the rain with a coat, but doing a rather poor job. It ran in rivulets down the sides of his head. Sam wobbled.

_Why didn't they move him out of this infernal downpour?_

"Walter!" Peter nearly was shouting at him. "Can you hear me? An ambulance is on its way."

"P-P-Peter? Peter! I brought the Beatles back together again. And Queen! I did it!" he weakly grabbed for Peter's hand. Peter found it and held it. His firm hold was reassuring to Walter and he calmed down.

"I'm sure you did, Walter, in _another_ universe. But not this one," Peter said a little louder than he wanted. He looked at Sam sideways, hoping he wouldn't catch it and ask about it. The guy's eyes were red and so were Walter's. Peter wasn't stupid, he knew that the two must've been getting high together. They both reeked of marijuana.

"Sam knows _everything_, Peter."

T_his college stoner knows everything? _Peter looked very alarmed, but only Walter could tell. He knew his son's moods very well.

"But don't worry. Don't worry. He won't blab about you being from another universe."

Fire alarm bells and air raid sirens went off in his head and Peter hoped he wouldn't have to put a hand over Walter's mouth to get him to SHUT UP. He casually looked over at the slightly younger man standing beside him holding a jacket over Walter trying to shield him from the rain. Sam was trying hard not to look at Peter.

"Walter, you're talking gibberish," Peter tried to joke and forced out a laugh. "You NEED to be quiet."

"But you really shouldn't have given me permission to re-animate celebrity corpses for profit. I question your judgment."

Peter's look softened, he had no idea what his father was talking about. Maybe he _could_ just dismiss everything as nonsense.

"And poor Astrid, she had to go grave robbing and miss her nail appointment. Where were you and Olivia? Oh, _I know_..." he winked at Peter.

"Okay Walter, you really _**DO**_ need to shut up now." Even if it sounded outlandish, he didn't need to start naming names.

"Oh, he won't talk about it. Sam's been sworn to secrecy. Doctor-patient relationship."

Peter gave Sam a hard look.

"We do talk a lot," Sam explained. "But I won't tell a soul."

Sam's hopes for a number one bestselling novel about Doctor Bishop's life were crushed in an instant. But it was nothing he was worried about right now. He only hoped his friend wasn't hurt too badly falling down the stairs in the rain. Walter had a nasty red welt on the side of his head that was swelling up badly.

"I promise."

"He's been wanting to meet you for quite some time," Walter said to Peter. "I'm sorry this was the way you had to meet. Next time I'll just take us all to lunch."

"Yes, Walter, lunch would have been a lot better."

Walter crooked a finger at Sam. Sam leaned closer and Walter whispered at his friend.

"Can you see the glimmer?"

Sam shook his head once and stood up. He didn't dare look at Peter.

This was an answer to a secret he shared with Walter.

A siren wailed in the distance.


End file.
